See You Again
by percychased
Summary: Dean and Seamus are sure they'll see another again. After all, something so wonderful cannot end there; or, war rips people apart in all sorts of ways and the concept of time means nothing. Dean/Seamus.


_**See You Again**_

* * *

><p><strong>September<strong>

"I'm quite excited to go back, y'know. Nice getting out of the house. Mum's had us on lockdown since we got off that train," said Jack, dragging his trunk down the stairs and cursing cheerfully as he ran over his own toe. Nothing could change his mood on the morning of September the first, it seemed.

"Yeah, sure nice going back to a place run by Death Eaters and the like," Seamus said, dourly.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, Seamus? Can't be that bad. It's _Hogwarts,_ mate," Jack said, nodding, like that was all of the explanation he needed to provide.

Seamus grumbled. Jack was only in his third year; of course he'd be excited, the idiot. What got his knickers in a twist? Well, that was a long one, really. He couldn't even imagine Jack's reaction if he was told what had _actually_ got his knickers in a twist.

"_The Muggle-Born Registration Commission. What utter bullshit," said Seamus, stretching out on the sofa. It was late August, and Dean and Seamus had found very rare alone time in the Finnigan's sitting room with a copy of the Daily Prophet sitting between them. _

"_Yeah, well," Dean's face twisted, and he shoved the copy of the newspaper off of the sofa and closed the gap between himself and Seamus, edging the possibility of more conversation about that topic away. This was new - this thing, whatever the hell they had decided they were doing. A little more than best friends, sure._

He remembered that day so well - it was only a week ago, after all. The kiss had started off tentative and unsure, and many minutes later, passionate and fervid as there was no space left between them whatsoever. If he thought about it even now, he could still feel the heat radiating off of Dean, and the indescribable feeling of comfort he brought.

.

For all of the physical strength he possessed, Dean Thomas was not cut out for camping. He had grown up in the midst of the biggest city in the UK, and his family never went on camping trips - the forest was a foreign land to him.

It was September, an autumn chill biting his ears. His stomach gave a faint grumble, and he sighed, heavy with exhaustion. He'd been on the run for all of two weeks, camping in the woods, mostly, crossing through some very Muggle villages occasionally. In his boredom, he'd even made a crude bow and arrow - his proudest moment so far had been shooting a rabbit with it. Although he felt bad, it was food. Dean sat down on a log, setting his knapsack in front of him and digging through the worn bag. He had a fair amount of savings he'd taken out from his Muggle bank account his mother made him, and few galleons. He found a granola bar, and savouring any type of food, he dug his teeth into it, eating it quickly and swallowing it down with water.

It had been two weeks since he'd seen his mother and his sisters, and four since he'd seen Seamus.

Seamus. God, they didn't even have a way to contact each other. For all of Seamus knew, he could be dead right now.

Seamus could die right now, at this instant, and he wouldn't know. How would he know? He hadn't seen a living soul he knew for two weeks.

* * *

><p><strong>November<strong>

The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was akin to pouring lava on him, setting his bones on fire, lighting up every nerve ending in his body. His toes curled and he felt the wetness of blood dripping off of his chin; he'd been biting his lip so hard to prevent himself from screaming.

"Where is he?" Alecto Carrow asked. She flicked her wand casually, throwing him against a stone wall. She seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in torturing him until he was unconscious or something close to.

"Tell me, boy," she said, inflicting _crucio _upon him once more, "or this will get worse for you. Where is your Mudblood friend?"

He felt like his organs were being ripped open, slowly, painfully. Knives were carving words, terrible words that were invisible on his skin but Merlin, did he ever feel them. He couldn't give in. He only knew one thing, anyway, would that even mean anything?

Until he saw the first years trembling in the same room during a moment of rest from the pain she was inflicting. No, no, she couldn't hurt them. They were eleven years old, for Merlin's sake!

The words rushed out of him in a desperation that made his heart almost rip out of his chest. "He's on the run, in the forest, he's on the run," said Seamus, feeling something inside of him break as he dropped to the floor.

..

Griphook proved interesting company - they talked, and Dean found himself educated about many things. The goblin had very unique opinions, and whilst they didn't always agree, it was interesting to hear what he had to say.

Seamus never left his mind, however. His chapped lips and sandy hair were always in the back of his head, never straying - especially at night, when the complete quiet meant there was nothing left to do but _think. _The memories made him feel lonely, even with Griphook at his side.

…

Hours later, Ginny found Seamus in the Room of Requirement, and didn't say a word as she wet a cloth and put it to his bloodied and torn apart lip, silently sitting next to him on a bench.

Seamus put his elbows on his knees and covered his face. He could hear Ginny's breathing next to him, even and comforting.

He choked. "I told her, that witch, I told her where he was," he paused to run his fingers through his hair, "and now she knows. Fuck, he's going to die, and it's going to be entirely my fault."

"What did you tell him?" Ginny asked, keeping a neutral tone.

"I said he's in the forest, on the run," Seamus said, "they'll _find _him, Ginny. Fuck. They'll trace him or track him or whatever and they'll find him, and if he's murdered, it'll be all my fucking fault."

"Saying that he's on the run means nothing, Seamus," said Ginny, keeping that calm, neutral tone. Her voice seemed to draw him out of his hysteria. "There's a million Muggleborns on the run, and Dean is intelligent. He knows what to do. He'll be fine. Don't mourn for someone who isn't dead. You'll see him again, Seamus."

* * *

><p><strong>February<strong>

Months had passed.

Dean had determined he'd still hated camping as much as he had when he left five months ago. Only now, he had other people to hate camping with - namely, Griphook, Ted Tonks, and Dirk Cresswell, fellow Muggleborns and a Goblin.

He'd tried to find ways to talk to Seamus somehow, let him know he was safe, but it seemed to be impossible. There was no way himself, Ted, and Dirk could talk to their loved ones without putting both parties in danger.

Seamus. Every day, the memories had not faded. In his dreams, in a thin sleeping bag with sticks poking into his back, he thought about that one afternoon they got. It was only one afternoon - oh, how he wished it could be many afternoons, many mornings, many nights - they got together, and he couldn't forget it, the way that it felt so _right, _so _good._

.

He had now relocated himself permanently to the Room of Requirement, along with a few other Seventh Years. With Aberforth's cooperation, they were able to get food and water, as well as loo facilities.

Sometimes, with Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Ginny Weasley, they snuck out at night, all sorts of charms on themselves, and wrote _Dumbledore's Army _in big, red letters all over the place - the adrenaline was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

Every night, though, lying on those hammocks they'd fashioned themselves in the Room of Requirement, he'd think of Dean. They announced every Muggleborn death on the wireless, and in this case, he supposed that no news was good news. They tuned into Potterwatch too - hearing the voices of the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan provided comfort, and nearly brought Ginny to tears in relief every time she heard them, joking and laughing and making the worst possible jokes about Snape's lack of shampoo.

That brought a little comfort, but Seamus couldn't help but to think that just even _hearing _from Dean would bring much more comfort.

* * *

><p><strong>April<strong>

It was almost funny how much he treasured a mattress after living on a sleeping bag for seven months. Shell Cottage was a dream.

He'd been captured in Malfoy Manor for six days when Dobby, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had arrived. Ollivander, Luna, Griphook, and himself had been in there. He'd been lucky to be alive then - the Snatchers had ambushed them while they were asleep in the forest. One of their charms must have been faulty. Nonetheless, recognizing Dirk as a member of the Ministry, they Avada'd him on sight, and while aiming for him, they'd gotten Ted, too.

Dean had been in so much shock he hadn't known what to do. Even now, with the sea air that just happened to taste like freedom, he felt heavy with grief for the friends he'd made over those months in the woods. They had nothing else to do but talk, to get to know each other. He knew all there was to know about an infant Nymphadora Tonks, and knew about all of Dirk Cresswell's girlfriends at Hogwarts. In turn, they knew about his upbringing, how his father left their family. He was mourning his friends, mourning the times they'd sat in a tent and talking until the sun disappeared from the sky.

While he stood at the window in Ollivander's bedroom, staring out of it, the elderly wizard had made a comment. "You look lonely, boy. Whoever you're missing will come back soon."

Merlin, did he ever need Seamus now.

.

Potterwatch was turned all the way up. The group hiding out in the Room of Requirement had grown from ten to fifteen to twenty-five, now, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors of all kinds. The unity that had grown from these terrible times was something beautiful and incomprehensible. They were not separated by houses or colours or personality traits; Seamus was a firm believer that they were _one._

"- we would like to extended our condolences to the families of Mr. Cresswell and Mr. Tonks -"

More deaths, yet he hadn't heard a single mention of Dean's name. That meant he had to be alive, right? There was no way - absolutely no way - that he couldn't be alive, following that kiss they'd shared so many months ago. There had to be more.

There _had _to be an ending to this story, Seamus thought.

* * *

><p><strong>May 2<strong>

It was time. It was time to fight.

His wand was burning a hole in his pocket.

He was at the Hog's Head, with the rest of them. The Weasley twins, the majority of the Order of the Phoenix, the old Gryffindor Quidditch team.

There was something burning inside of him - the desire to go out and _do something. _For Seamus, for himself, for Dirk and for Ted. He could hear the three of them inside his head, Seamus' lips and the full-bellied laugh of Ted and the simple, straight-laced conversation of Dirk.

They went behind a portrait of a young girl. Dean found himself kicking at the dirt as they went through the passage, the others talking in hushed voices. Voices got louder and louder, until he exited the portrait hole into the... Room of Requirement.

There must have been about a hundred people in the room, but his eyes found the back of a sandy-haired man speaking loudly in the center of the room and he stopped dead in the doorway.

Lee Jordan prodded him in the back. "Keep moving, mate."

The sandy-haired man turned around, facing him from across the Room of Requirement.

"Seamus," said Dean.

.

Seamus was explaining to Harry, Ron, and Hermione the situation of the last few months when more arrivals from the old Dumbledore's Army came through the passageway. He heard the distinctive _whoops _of the Weasley twins as they entered, the three ex-Chasers of the Gryffindor Quidditch team talking to people, Lee Jordan jumping into conversation.

Seamus turned around and, by instinct, stepped forward, seeing the man - his best friend, his whatever-the-hell-they-were - he'd been thinking about for the past eight months. Dean Thomas.

Dean stood there for a moment and mouthed his name, stepping out of the doorway and toward him. Seamus took several steps forward.

"Dean," Seamus said, and his name felt a whole lot like _home._

* * *

><p>an - For THG Competiton, using mournful, fervid, Ollivander, Hurt/Comfort, bow and arrow, and "He is going to die, and it's entirely my fault."

I've been posting a lot of Seamus/Dean lately. Clearly, I cannot resist. /shrugs

Reviews would be very lovely :))))


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